The Body, Part Two

Dear Diary, I woke up at 6:30 this morning from a dream that ended in a hug.  It was a specific hug, one that I haven't felt in eight or nine years, but in my dream, it was exactly right, that hug.  Its shape and texture, its solidity and scent.  My body remembered precisely.  It was a shock of both relief and recall, which means that my mind has mercifully allowed those sensations to fade from my conscious memory over time.  Last night before bed I had been reading and was struck by a line about the soul whispering to the mind in dreams.  I say it was merciful of my mind to forget the sensation of the hug, but sparking that memory in my body was also a mercy - perhaps given by my soul?  How long will my body remember that hug?  Will it keep reminding me once in awhile?

Dear Diary, Saturday I spent hours and hours at the mall just trying to find a pair of jeans that fit me right.  I am tall and I have hips built to hold a cradle - but I am still stylish, by god.  I searched and searched and fought to keep from seeing myself the way all those ill-fitting jeans wanted me to:  not right!  As if the problem was that I didn't fit the jeans, and not the other way around.  As if it is form and not function that makes a body right.

Some true things I'd like to tell

Dear Diary, I woke up at 6:30 this morning, raised my head to turn off the alarm on my iPhone (a little ethereal piano clip I took from Angelica by Lamb, apparently stolen from Debussy), saw a display of gold and orange streaks across the eastern sky over the tall buildings along the Charles. I thought of getting up. I looked at my phone and a text had come in while I was sleeping - a friend still in college asking me if I was watching the meteor shower. I missed it. I missed it when I was in college, too, even though I always sorta remembered when it was coming. I fell back on the pillow. When I got up an hour later, I did a sun salutation yoga series for the first time. Sunshine was glowing in my windows. It seemed the thing to do.